It was obvious that Nika and Segantini felt magnetically drawn to each other, because of the unspoken bond that this common experience created. Since the young woman had started working in the garden, Segantini passed by much more often than before, seeking her out. Segantini had fallen in love with Nika; Robustelli had no doubt of that. But he didn’t know where this could lead in a village like Maloja, where everybody knew everyone else, and everything came out into the open sooner or later. Segantini was respected and had a family. And the thought that by helping and encouraging Nika—with the best and noblest intentions—the painter was thereby also causing her new difficulties and possible harm saddened Robustelli. For in the end, any relationship that ensued would be blamed on Nika, not on Segantini.
Isn’t it bad women who lead men astray?
This train of thought made Achille feel uncomfortable. Not because he adhered to a narrow moral standard, and not because he knew the stories of these two people who were so close to him. Rather, watching a situation develop for which he could see no practical solution was hard for him. His ability to find solutions for almost all the problems he encountered was what had made him so successful and content in his profession. But a resolution to what he saw coming between Segantini and the girl eluded his pragmatic mind. The dark, confusing field of human emotion and passion was a strange and mysterious landscape for him. Achille Robustelli liked common sense, clarity, and order, and for that reason, he now switched his focus from musing to finishing his correspondence.
Finding a guide for their mountain hike wasn’t hard. The locals were all familiar with the area, and many of them hired out as guides, easily identifiable by the hemp glacier rope slung over their shoulders. They sat on the benches in front of the big hotels, with gray felt hats on their heads, waiting for customers, smoking, talking among themselves, and all the while unobtrusively studying the tourists. Betsy approached one man and began the negotiations, and proved to be a good businesswoman.
“Let me do it,” she’d told Edward. “I know these people better. Tourism has spoiled most of them. You can read about it in the guide books on Switzerland.”
Preparations for the mountain hike took some time. With his friend looking on in disbelief, Edward acquired an alpenstock, a spiked wooden walking pole nearly as tall as he was, and sporty leggings. He even had his most sturdy pair of shoes resoled with nails to assure safe footing on the mountain. Of course he would wear a white shirt, necktie, and vest, but wasn’t quite sure whether he should also buy a hiking jacket. James flatly vetoed that idea.
Betsy picked her moss-green suit to wear, thinking she would take the jacket off if it got too hot. She liked its practical features, like the elastic band that could be used to hitch up the skirt while climbing. She also bought a walking stick. But she didn’t opt to have nails put on her shoes, for she felt sure on her feet. And for that same reason, she gave their good-looking, tanned guide, Caviezel, a contemptuous look when he recommended that she let herself be carried up to the source of the Inn River in a sedan chair. Still, she did agree with his suggestion that they take a mule along. The creature could carry the picnic in its rather ridiculously decorated saddlebags.
Their handsome mountain guide had said nothing. The lady would perhaps be glad at some point for the mule, he thought. They arranged that on the chosen day they would all meet at the horse-drawn omnibus station at the Hotel Maloja at nine in the morning. From there they would begin their climb.
The morning was clear, and the air smelled of fresh hay. As she was waiting for Edward, Betsy wondered, just for an instant, whether as a widow she should really allow herself to be this adventurous, and if it was all right to have some carefree pleasure—and with a man she hardly knew. Then there was Mathilde, whom she was leaving behind. In general, though, since she didn’t tend to have feelings of guilt, the happy sensation of being alive soon prevailed again and even pushed her worries about her niece to the back of her mind.
Edward was also surprised to find himself in such a good mood as the horses drew his carriage from St. Moritz to Maloja. He felt as if a strong wind had swept away all his caution and misgivings. He was looking forward to the day with Betsy. To his left were the lakes, all in a row like a pearl necklace—after Lake St. Moritz came Lake Champfer, Lake Silvaplana, and Lake Sils.
He gazed out the window as they went through Sils-Maria, a sleepy village off the main road. The place practically belonged to the Germans and wasn’t on the high-society circuit—perhaps the international set found the village too quiet and consequently boring. At most, an amusement-seeking group might be lured to the place for an afternoon excursion—if they wanted to have their tea in the high mountains just as they might have back in the salons of London, Paris, Rome, or Saint Petersburg. In any case, for several years now Nietzsche, who had made Sils familiar in intellectual circles, no longer spent his summers there.
Edward was pleased when moments later the carriage approached Maloja and the grand hotel that dominated the small village came into sight.
The climb took longer than Betsy thought it would. Although the path wasn’t dangerous, it was steep and strenuous. After only a few meters, they left behind the timberline and the shade cast by the last of the stone pines—but, stubborn as she was, Betsy didn’t easily give up. Feeling warm, she took off her suit jacket, silently cursing the long skirt. The material was heavy and impeded her climbing. She envied the men, even though Edward now and then loosened his shirt collar and took off his hat. The guide was smart enough not to mention the mule anymore. Betsy cast a longing look at the saddled animal trotting calmly up the mountain. There was little conversation. Breathing became labored.
Now and then, they stopped to rest, take a sip of tea, marvel at the view. No sooner would they make a halt, than peasant girls appeared out of nowhere, holding out small bouquets of edelweiss and alpine roses, begging for pennies. Edward gave the first girl a coin and gallantly handed the little bunch of flowers to Betsy. Beaming, she pinned them to her belt. She hadn’t been given flowers by a man in a long time, certainly not red roses, even though these were only alpine roses.
“The tourists have shot all the ibex, the mountain goats,” their guide explained, as if to compensate for the fact that the natives were picking all the most beautiful Alpine flowers.
The grass became sparser as they climbed. Ahead of them, silvery green granite glinted in the sunshine, with cliffs oxidized to a reddish brown. Blooms of gentian were visible here and there, glowing with an intense blue that demanded to be admired.
Betsy felt let down when she saw Lej dal Lunghin, the lake into which all the gravel springs from above collected. The water was wonderfully clear and blue, but it reflected nothing except the surrounding bare cliffs. She had liked the Inn River, babbling down the mountain in light, foamy cascades, better than this lonely spring-fed lake. She missed the grass and trees and asked Edward if they could have the picnic farther down the mountain.
The guide was disappointed. Not going up to the Piz Lunghin was like giving up just before reaching your final destination. Hoping to inspire them, he explained to them that one drop of water from the lake could be carried from that point into any one of three seas, depending on the direction in which it flowed downward—into the Black Sea by way of the Inn River, into the Adriatic from Lake Como and the Po River, or northward into the North Sea via the Rhine. This explanation was the high point of his guided tour. He was counting on Edward’s resolute ambition to carry the day.
But Edward felt much closer at that moment to Betsy. He loved the plant world—and here, nature was barren and unfriendly. The surroundings made him think of how insignificant he’d sometimes felt after his disappointment with Emily. Of course, in this powerful landscape, any human being appeared insignificant. But like Betsy, he did not feel at home; he wanted to get down as quickly as possible to a place where you could stretch out in the grass.
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p; Their guide emphasized that even if they returned early, he was to be paid the full amount agreed upon. Then he gave the mule a brusque slap on the back and initiated the climb back down.
Betsy smiled at Edward. They understood each other, even without a lot of words.
Actually, Betsy was a bit surprised at herself. She’d thought herself more adventurous and bold. Down in the valley, looking up, no peak had seemed too high. But now she was quite content to sit down on one of the folding chairs the mule had been carrying and enjoy some cold roast beef with pickles while Edward stretched out on the picnic blanket with his hat pulled down over his face.
“There’s Segantini, the painter,” the guide said, his voice intruding on the sleepy midday mood. He pointed at a man and a young woman coming quickly nearer; it was Segantini and Baba returning home for lunch. Edward jumped up as if electrified when he heard the name.
“May we say hello to the master?” he asked Caviezel, who nodded and called out, “Good day, Signor Segantini!”
Segantini stopped. “Were you up on Piz Lunghin with the lady and gentleman? Such a beautiful day today!” He nodded appreciatively at Betsy and Edward.
“It’s an honor,” Edward said, and introduced Betsy and himself. But Segantini, who spoke only Italian, asked Betsy to repeat it all for him. He was a friend of James Danby, Edward had her translate, a reporter living in England who had already been introduced to Segantini. Segantini remembered. Yes, he had agreed to make an appointment to meet with the gentleman at the Hotel Maloja.
“I paint almost exclusively outdoors, not in my studio,” Segantini said. “Perhaps your friend should come with me some day when I go to work on my paintings. In fact, why don’t you and your friend come for a modest supper at my house in the next few days,” he suggested, adding, “I would be happy, of course, if you would also come along, Signora.”
Betsy hesitated a moment. Could her niece come along too? She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but she thought this would be a marvelous opportunity for Mathilde . . .
Segantini agreed. Then he and Baba continued on their way, as the mountain guide watched in admiration.
“The whole world wants to meet him, to visit him. It’s become fashionable to make a pilgrimage to Maloja just to see the master. And they say he generously receives and feeds all these people.”
“Well, then, we’ll be following the fashion,” Betsy said. “But thank God, we won’t need a mountain guide for that pilgrimage,” she whispered to Edward, for she was somehow disappointed in the handsome Caviezel.
Mathilde had an appointment with Dr. Bernhard. Today, of all days, when she could have seen James for the whole day without the presence of her aunt, who was clambering around in the mountains. It turned out the cure was taking up much of her time. This entire morning would be taken up with it.
“Dear Miss Schobinger, I don’t like the way your lungs sound,” Dr. Bernhard said. “You must continue with your treatments. I’d like to see you again soon for a more thorough examination.”
“But except for my cough, I feel wonderful!” Mathilde said. “I just have a cold. It’s always so cool in the mornings, and then during the day the sun is so hot . . .”
“Nevertheless, you are running a temperature. If you take a look in the mirror, you’ll see that your cheeks are quite flushed.” Dr. Bernhard did not say that he’d had his doubts about the family doctor’s report right from the first visit.
“But I . . .” Mathilde knew what Dr. Bernhard was trying to tell her. “I’m just a little excited today.”
Dr. Bernhard said, “If you’re looking forward to a pleasant rendezvous today, I’m happy for you. But I must repeat, it is important that I examine your lungs more thoroughly, and it would be good if your aunt came along next time. Please have the nurse make an appointment right now for you to come back, either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. All right?”
Dr. Bernhard accompanied Mathilde to the door. He did not like worrying his patients without reason, but he felt in this case, he needed to emphasize his point.
Mathilde pushed Dr. Bernhard’s words as far to the back of her mind as she could. She took a carriage back to the hotel. There, she took all her dresses out of the closet because she didn’t know which one to choose. After a long back and forth, she chose the white one, and a light-blue wool shawl. She rang for the chambermaid to bring fresh water.
James would be waiting for her in front of the hotel and would take her somewhere for lunch. They didn’t want to eat at the Spa Hotel Maloja, for then Kate would immediately attach herself to them, and Mathilde didn’t like the idea of that at all. They wanted to be by themselves, just the two of them. James had whispered in her ear last time they’d talked: “You’ll see. We’ll get away from them all, even if I have to kidnap you.”
That was, of course, highly improper and for that very reason especially attractive. Aunt Betsy would surely have a screaming fit if she found out that Mathilde was planning to be alone with James. But she wouldn’t find out, because Edward, who might have noticed had he been in St. Moritz as usual, was on the climb with Aunt Betsy. And Mathilde was sure she could find some excuse to explain to Kate why she hadn’t been at the hotel for lunch. As she hurried down the great stairway to meet James, she was in high spirits, tapping every step with her parasol and almost tripping over it.
James stood waiting discreetly near their agreed meeting place, the hotel entrance. He’d told Kate a little white lie.
“James,” she’d said two days earlier, taking his arm, “I have arranged for you to have a day with Mathilde while Aunt Betsy and your friend are away from the hotel. In fact, I’ve arranged for the two of them to attack the mountains together this coming Wednesday. Now, what’s my reward for that? You owe me!”
James had kissed her hand. “I would be deeply indebted to you if you hadn’t done this with an ulterior motive. But I know you too well to think otherwise. So, tell me, what is it you get?” For just a moment, he looked past Kate, which was one mark against him. “What do you get out of my spending the day alone with Mathilde?”
“Dear James. I shall be Mathilde’s chaperone and not let you and that curly-haired lamb out of my sight. I take my assignment seriously, you know.”
She beamed that radiant smile at him, which, on first meeting her, had seemed so spontaneous and innocuous. “I’ll enjoy Mathilde’s infatuation. Isn’t it beautiful to witness the awakening desire in a pair of lovers? Do you know of anything more enchanting than the sprouting of young love?”
“And that’s enough for you? You don’t want anything for yourself? Is it perhaps that because your husband satisfies all your longings so well you only want to see others as happy as yourself?”
They had been walking in the gardens at the Spa Hotel Maloja and had stopped outside the front doors. Kate had shaken her head in pretended despair.
“You really don’t know me well at all, James. I’m ready to give you a private lesson. Let’s say Wednesday evening, after Mathilde’s aunt has come back from her excursion? My husband is going to be working in Chur that Wednesday. It’s a difficult trip, and he will start in the morning and be back, at the earliest, three days later. So you may choose when you’d like to have your private lesson. I’d suggest we have it here. The Pension Veraguth is perhaps a little too small. And anyway, it’s proper to make it as convenient as possible for the lady.”
With a quick movement she’d shut her parasol, and the porter had noticed, and opened the hotel door. But James, holding on to Kate’s arm, had pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” she’d replied coolly and freed herself. “You really don’t know me, James. It’s time we remedy that.”
With that, she had vanished into the hotel.
And now Wednesday had arrived. Betsy had arranged with Kate that Mathilde was to report to her after retu
rning from her doctor’s appointment in St. Moritz. Kate had said she would be glad to spend the afternoon with the girl, and make sure that James did not make inappropriate advances. To James, she had suggested that the three of them have lunch together at the Spa Hotel Maloja and then play a round of golf or watch the target shooting in Isola and have blueberry cake with whipped cream at the restaurant there. James told Kate that he would like to come for lunch, but that he could not make a definite date.
“It all depends on how my tennis match goes,” he said, pleasantly vague. “But I’ll try my best. Don’t wait for me to eat. In any case, we’ll see each other at the golf course, right?”
“And what if Mathilde and I decide after lunch that we’d rather go to Isola?”
“If I don’t find you both at the golf course, I’ll take a carriage and get to Isola as quickly as possible.”
“And if we decide to take a carriage ride to the Roseg Glacier?” Kate asked rather sharply.
“Then you’ll be depriving yourself of the pleasure of my company,” James said with a charming smile that perfectly matched hers.
He had won the duel, but she passed over it, saying, “Oh, James, my newspaper wasn’t delivered this morning. Even the best hotel isn’t perfect. Would you be kind enough to get me one? You know how unhappy I am without my paper. You’d make me very happy with this little favor.”
And there was her radiant smile again and the casual demand on his time that was hard to object to. But he could sense an underlying touch of fury in her request.
This time James didn’t bring her the newspaper, nor did he regret even for a moment his little white lie. Mathilde was going to sneak out of the hotel before Kate could notice. And there she was, already coming down the staircase—she was such an enchanting young bird that James felt for an instant quite like a cat. It was a good thing the serious-minded Edward wasn’t nearby.
Portrait of a Girl Page 11
